


Winding Paths of Memories

by Sporadic_Writer



Series: Nature of Brotherhood [1]
Category: Thor - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sporadic_Writer/pseuds/Sporadic_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki used to like Thor sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winding Paths of Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and posted this story on LJ in 2013, and I am just archiving it here.

Status of work: Complete  
Disclaimer: I don't own this.  
Fandom: Thor movie  
Characters and/or pairings: Thor and Loki being brothers. Cameos from the Warriors Three and Sif and various OCs.  
Rating: PG  
Warnings, kinks & contents: Description of battle. Sexual innuendos. Bad language.   
Length: 8,137 words.

A/N: This fic is a counterpart to Six Times the Avengers Pissed Off Loki. You don't need to read it to understand this story, but I think that you'd have a more complete idea of the relationships that I'm illustrating if you do. "Winding Paths of Memories" is a look at the brotherhood between Loki and Thor before the events of the movie. While a thread of angst naturally runs through the story, I included a fair amount of brotherly bonding, affection, humor, and playfulness to show a nuanced view of the complicated ties of family.

Summary: Thor and Loki must have got along at some point in their lives.

 

Thor would never admit it, but sometimes he really did have too much pride for his own good, especially when he allowed himself to be goaded into making an ill-advised bet with Loki. And all before lunchtime too. Thor looked sadly down at his growling stomach, and he almost turned to the kitchens for a snack. But Loki would surely be displeased to learn that Thor ranked some bread and cheese over him. His nervous imaginings of his brother's fury made him think twice and continue down the echoing hall with a reluctant sigh.

“Do you really think so, Thor?” Loki had taunted with a pale smile on his lips. “I shudder to imagine their reactions: the almighty Thor shying away from a mere garden? I suppose Asgard's enemies need only throw posies at you to lower your guard.”

Thor had taken the needling gracefully at first, but the continued mockery had infuriated him, and he had to admit that he too had thrown out some unkind words.

“I suppose Asgard's enemies need only meet you upon a cliff then, Brother, for your whimpering at the height should serve them well, as they step over you!” Thor had snarled in turn.

Loki's eyes had widened in shock and, to Thor's shame, deep hurt, before the green depths cooled to icy chips. To Thor's immense discomfort, Loki had then smiled unnervingly bright before murmuring, “Well, brother, a challenge well met. I acknowledge my fears; do you dare acknowledge yours? Shall we say midday at the center of the garden maze?”

Before Thor could say anything else, Loki had vanished into a poof of smoke, a gesture that Thor had always thought a bit crass. He would never mention it though; if Loki could get so angry over a minor upset like this, Thor probably couldn't live with the fury that Loki would display should he ever find out Thor's secret thoughts.

Standing before the interwoven bushes and vines and trees that reared to create a narrow opening only four feet high, Thor peered uneasily into the depths and wondered if he wasn't about to be made a fool. As he well knew, Loki's mercurial nature meant he might as well have decided that he'd rather go back to his books instead of waiting for Thor in the garden. Perhaps he should check the library first.

Thor walked unhappily around the garden entrance, taking his time and scanning the skies with immense interest. If only the Warriors Three and Sif hadn't chosen to visit Hogun's old master, if only his father had not required his presence for all the banquets, he could have gone with them and avoided the argument with Loki.

“What are you doing?” The voice came from right behind him, and Thor whirled around, Mjölnir in his hand. The young man held his hands up peaceably and approached slowly. Thor recognized him somewhat from one of the many banquets that his father had been holding in celebration of the seasons' changing.

“Greetings, my lord,” the young man said smoothly. “I apologize for interrupting your thoughts. I was merely curious to see another awake at this hour in the morn. I do believe all the rest are still sleeping off the effects of your father's excellent mead.”

Thor couldn't help but laugh. “It serves you well then that you are awake and hale at this time.”

The young man bowed modestly. “My lord flatters me with his kind words. May I ask what my lord is doing? Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

Thor eyed the man thoroughly for a moment before bestowing an ear to ear grin and holding his hand out to his new friend. As powerful as Thor is, he can afford to trust easily and often. “I would be glad of a companion upon my journey. What is your name?”

“Ulfr,” the young man said after a moment.

“Ulfr,” Thor repeated. The name didn't sound particularly familiar, but with all those allies visiting, it was difficult, and not a little boring, to keep track. Thor didn't really bother in the first place. “Ulfr, let us begin!”

After walking for a while peacefully, Thor felt less threatened by the mysterious garden; he had always felt a sense of unease about the manner in which the vines and flowers tangled around each other and through the trees. His dislike had merely increased with Loki's offhand mention of parasitical plant relationships. But it seemed beautiful now, and Ulfir seemed to have a sixth sense about the best paths to take, and nothing stirred, say the quiet chirp of birds seeking their mates and the soft ruffle of open flowers enjoying the light breeze of the day.

Finally, Thor decided to make conversation, for it was not in his nature to remain quiet. “Tell me, how have you enjoyed your time here, Ulfr?”

Ulfr faltered a bit, and the look in his eyes were wary, like his namesake's. “I, well, as I said earlier, the mead truly made an impression. And of course, I rather enjoyed the library with its bounty of rare and enlightening books.”

“Really?” Thor asked, interested. “My brother, Loki, considers the library his domain. You are lucky that he did not catch you there. I have seen a few visitors leave with their tails on fire.” Thor gave a booming laugh as he thought back to some rather funny memories.

Ulfr made a discourteous expression. “Yes, I had heard that the younger prince is rather tempestuous.”

“That he is,” Thor said amiably. “That he is.”

“I suppose he must be rather a trial to live with,” Ulfr continued speaking.

“At times,” Thor agreed, thinking of earlier this morning when Loki completely mistook his meaning and grew angry, as he often did.

“It's a pity you are not yet king; otherwise, you could easy banish such an inconvenience,” Ulfr mused aloud.

Thor stopped in his tracks, and he whirled on the other god. “Your words come close to insult towards my brother. I advise you to watch your tongue, lest we must have words.”

Ulfr held up his hands in placating confusion. “I meant no offense to you, my lord. I merely sought to empathize with your difficult situation.”

“Loki is not a difficulty,” Thor told him darkly, no sense of a lie on his lips from all the times that Loki objectively really was the source of all trouble.

Ulfr searched his face with something like wonder. “I see. I apologize, my lord, for my assumptions.”

Thor nodded curtly, and they silently continued on their way, and all was calm until they came to the heart of the maze. Thor bellowed happily and beat away the aggressively lively vines and bushes that blocked the way until the final green tendril slinked away, limp and bleeding sap.

Thor frowned deeply as he scanned the surrounding benches and trees, unable to see his brother. His rush of adrenaline from the earlier battle began to die down, and his spirit grew sour. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he was about to let loose an irritated growl at the wasted time.

“Thor,” the smooth, lilting voice came with its usual mocking overtones, and Loki came out from a broad stumped cedar tree that had been blocking the stone bench furthest from Thor. “What a surprise. I wasn't expecting you to make it.”

“I had a guide,” Thor pursed his lips as he glared at Loki. He wasn't sure who irritated him more. Ulfr for his earlier rudeness or Loki for making Thor wonder why exactly he had defended his troublesome brother to the other god. Regardless, Thor gestured towards Ulfr politely, but Loki looked confused and suspicious upon following his hand.

“What guide?” Loki asked slowly, eyebrow arching in a familiar query: Are you drunk again, Thor?

Thor blinked bemusedly at the empty spot next to him; he spun around to see if perhaps Ulfr had walked away or decided to keep his distance. No one was there. Thor gawked for a while and began to splutter, “He was just there, Loki. You can't possibly have missed him. We started at the front of the garden and walked together all the way—”

Loki shook his head with a rare gentle smile and took Thor by the arm and turned him to face the poppy covered pathway that led to the exit.

“Come now, Thor. I expect you need some sustenance to keep that brain of yours working,” Loki said chidingly, but it looked as though his brother had forgiven him, Thor thought, examining the sharp cool features that seemed ever so slightly softened in the midday light.

 

Thor believed that Volstagg meant no harm with his remark, and Loki had always been rather sensitive about other people's perceptions.

Volstagg raised the barrel of ale once more and tilted it roughly to force the flow of liquid down to his mouth, but once again, the ale vanished before it could even wet his lips. Volstagg threw the barrel down with a powerful yell of annoyance. He turned to Thor, who had been watching in reluctant amusement.

“When will your brother's spell stop its effects? Enough is enough! I apologized, didn't I?” Volstagg grumbled as he snagged a bowl of apples and tried to chew on one with no more success than in his earlier endeavor.

“Loki's temper can flare longly and strongly,” Thor admitted, sympathy growing for his friend as he watched Vostagg's further struggles.

Fandral threw himself into a nearby chair with insouciance and snagged an apple of his own before taking a deep bite with a relish amplified by a slight glee at having one over his friend. “I don't doubt that Loki didn't have your best intentions in mind. But seeing as how you're bound to suffer this condition for another day, perhaps you should consider taking it with good spirits and going on a diet.”

“He has something there, you know,” Sif agreed. “You are carrying a few pounds more than you did last autumn. Imagine going back to Loki when the spell's over and thanking him sincerely for having improved your health. He'd have a fit!”

Hogun, over in the far corner, polishing his swords, gave a slight smirk at the idea. He generally didn't have much interaction with Loki since they neither of them tended to get into each other's way, but the last trick that Loki had played had inadvertently damaged Hogun's prize shield. The warrior was still holding a grudge for it, and Thor was waiting for his friend to take his revenge some day when even Loki, paranoid as he was, had forgotten to be on the lookout.

“I wasn't even talking about him. I was talking about that blasted nincompoop magician over in Queen Reginleif's court, and everyone knows that he really did achieve his position by warming her bed. He's not the last bit ashamed of letting that be known,” Volstagg ranted, starting to go off topic.

Thor soon grew tired of watching Volstagg's futile attempts to make contact with any food, his friend growing so desperate as to try the freshly cut vegetables that he usually disdained. Thor clapped a hand on Vostagg's back. “Let me speak with Loki. I am sure that I can successfully plead your case.”

Thor walked through the echoing halls and down the narrow curving stairs (he wondered if Loki had enchanted them to be even more uninviting than usual) until he reached the stone recess of his brother's chambers.

He knocked loudly and waited in preparation for grudging welcome, willful ignorance of his presence, or, unbelievable as it would be, Loki's apparent absence. After waiting several minutes, Thor knocked on the door again and held up Mjölnir before yelling, “Loki! Let us speak! Else I'm afraid that Mjölnir will meet your door by accident!”

Loki wrenched open the door and scowled at him so heavily that Thor thought his brother must have added some esoteric spell that could add a piercing quality to the chilly eyes. “I have my doubts that you'd be doing so on purpose, Thor, seeing as you can be rather clumsy. Did the Lady Lifa accept your apology yet for stomping all over the skirts of her newly woven gown?”

Thor winced as Loki's taunt brought up terrible memories of being shouted at by a harridan with the lungs of a hoarse voiced troll woman. “Ugh, well, the gown really did not favor her, and I hope that she will soon share my view.”

Snorting derisively, Loki left the door open as tacit acceptance of Thor's entrance. “What do you want then? Trying to find a hiding place before she skewers you?”

“No.” Thor hesitated. Loki seemed to be in a good enough mood, and Thor hated to create tension between them by bringing up the matter, but he had promised his friend. “Loki, don't you think that Vostagg has suffered your prank for long enough? Especially when you're angry with a comment that he didn't direct towards you. He was talking about Oddr, that nincompoop magician who's—”

“Yes, yes, the one who's sleeping his way through Queen Reginleif's court.”

“No, he's just warming her bed now, seeing as he's reached as high as possible.”

“Really? Well, either way, I suppose your friend and I can agree on one point: he really is incompetent; I heard he tried to turn a rope into a melon vine, but actually transformed it into a—”

“So, you understand then,” Thor cut in hastily. As much as he liked rude jokes, he thought they were quickly leaving the topic at hand. “You'll remove the spell?”

Loki waved a dismissive hand. “No, I won't. I'm not angry that he thinks Oddr is an idiot; I'm angry about his little nasty comment about magicians in general. Let's see; what was it? It's so hard to remember. Oh, that's right: 'not half as effectual as blunted spears.' I expect that he's changed his mind right about now.”

Thor winced, as he recalled that Volstagg perhaps did make a comment along those lines recently; he began to feel the stirrings of guilt, as he also remembered that he hadn't exactly disagreed with Volstagg's sentiments, and he sat down uneasily on the corner of a basalt rock cabinet.

Loki peered critically at the solution in the small silver amphora he balanced a little precariously before his face before setting it back on the fire. “This doesn't look quite right,” he murmured to himself. He turned to the set of shelves on his right but found he couldn't reach far enough, so he clicked his fingers at Thor and gave him an expectant look.

“I'm not your servant, Brother,” Thor informed him pro forma because Loki would boss around anyone with not enough spine to challenge his orders. Then, mindful of his earlier remembrance, Thor decided that he should sweeten his brother's mood if possible, so he obligingly walked to the shelf and scanned the various bottles and boxes. “Which do you want?”

“The small purple glass bottle—the one with the stopper shaped like a Ram's head.” Loki took the proffered bottle and sprinkled some of the ingredients into his amphora, the contents of which boiled merrily.

“Tell me, Thor,” Loki said conversationally, as he stirred the amphora with a thin wooden stick. “Do you suppose a warrior would find it more disconcerting to be unable to relieve himself in the bushes or to be unable to stop himself from doing such?”

Thor eyed Loki carefully. “I suppose either would be bothersome, Loki, but at least the first is not as noticeable to the public. Why do you ask?”

Waving away his question, Loki pointed at another bottle (this one tall and shaped a bit like a vase with careful inscriptions up and down its body), and upon receiving it, he poured a healthy dose of the clear liquid into the amphora.

“Ah, it's finished,” Loki said with satisfaction. “Now I'm all ready; oh, wait, not yet.” Loki held his hand in front of him, palm up and fingers just slightly curled at the ends. A piece of parchment came to his fingers, and with another flick of his fingers, finely written words slithered their way across in green ink.

Thor watched his brother's actions curiously, slowly reading along with the magic and his brows beginning to furrow with each line: “Dear Arngeir: You have no respect for King Odin's court, so perforce, his sons must show you the error of your disrespectful ways. Regards, Loki Odinson and Thor Odinson.”

Loki smiled slyly. “I must give you credit, Thor, since it would have been more difficult to create this potion without your assistance.”

“Loki, what are you planning to do?” Thor asked, suspicions turning into full out certainty, as he tried to grab the amphora from his brother's hands.

“Ah, ah,” Loki clicked his tongue, as they danced around each other, until finally, Loki tossed it out the window with an abrupt wave. Before Thor could feel too relieved, he noticed the smirk on Loki's face. “Transportation spell, Thor.”

Thor groaned in annoyance as he imagined their father summoning them to the throne room and demanding to know why Prince Arngeir of the West was blaming Odin's sons for unspecified personal difficulties. Hmm...actually...actually...actually, that was a damn good jest!

Thor couldn't help it; he roared with laughter until Loki was also coaxed into a rare full smile, eyes glowing like cut emeralds, as mirth filled his face.

“Arngeir really was being a bit of an ass last time he visited,” Thor admitted. “But I wouldn't have thought of getting revenge this way.”

“Well, that's why you need me, Thor,” Loki purred. “I have the best ideas.”

 

“This is all your fault, Loki,” Thor grumbled as they trod on the grassy plains in search of the Lady Asmotha's beloved pet sheep.

“My fault?” Loki repeated, brows knitting together. “And how so? As I recall, Lady Asmotha was kissing your lips, caressing your muscles, and was moving do—”

“Loki! You mustn't speak about a noblewoman like that. Lady Asmotha was merely conveying her father's greetings since the Lord Anundr was unable to attend the war council.”

“I notice that she failed to 'convey the greetings' to all other members of Odin's household,” Loki remarked casually to the general air.

Thor was too shameless to blush; instead Loki's idiot brother shrugged with a grin tugging at his lips. “The Lady Asmotha has a very admirable sense of detail.”

“Really? Then it's a shocking shame that she should shriek like a banshee and break open the wooden gates with her weight when taken by surprise at the idea that people would actually walk on the castle grounds.”

Thor shook his head in exasperation at his brother's asperity and strode through the musty forest, dim light from the treetops making the dust from their steps dance in the air. Birds chirped sweetly to one another while the soft thudding of deer could be heard in the far distance, and squirrels ran swifty from one tree to another.

But there came neither sight nor sound of a coddled lost sheep whimpering for its lost mistress.

“Can't you trace it with a spell or something?” Thor finally burst out after they had made their way through three-fifths of the forest. “I believe the blasted beast probably made its own way out of the forest by now.”

“You don't mind disappointing the Lady Asmotha then?” Loki asked slyly, and he watched as Thor kicked a nearby rock in silent rejection of the idea. The great Thor never could resist a woman's plea, especially if it came with glossy tears and big eyes and even bigger heaving brea—

“Ho!” Thor yelled, interrupting his thoughts. “I think I spy it now, Brother! It's right over there!”

They ran towards the broad grassy meadow a few meters before them. Shortly before they reached it, Loki felt a sudden sense of alarm, and he grabbed Thor's wrist, but his brother's forward momentum, as driven by his incredible weight (he's getting fat, Loki thought spitefully), threw them forward, and they fell into the hidden hunter's pit regardless.

“Thank Odin it wasn't spiked!” Loki snapped angrily at Thor's blonde locks, shaking involuntarily in horror at the immense pain that could have awaited them.

Thor also sat up, spitting hairs out of his face before dropping his head and flinging it back to clear his eyes. “They wouldn't bother spiking the pits during this time, Loki, you should know that. Any hunter worth his salt wouldn't dare for fear that he'd court a mother animal's curse by taking her young from her so early in the year.”

“Oh, how good to know that now, Thor,” Loki said through clenched teeth, as he stood up to see if he could get out of the pit through manual means. Smothering a sigh, he summoned his magic to the surface of his skin, and he dug his fingers into the hard-packed soil walls, creating little handholds. After reaching the surface, he looked down at Thor and briefly contemplated the peace he'd enjoy if he decided to leave alone.

Thor grinned up at him and backed up against the back wall of the pit before making a running jump and leaping up the walls of the pit. Back on proper ground, Thor let out a booming laugh before hitting Loki on the back. “It will be a good joke to tell Sif and the others.”

Shaking his head in exasperation, Loki started walking ahead, intent on leaving Thor behind. No more than an hour, and he was already getting sick of his brother's company. He had certain magical artifacts that he wanted to study, and he was no more willing to devote more time to this inane task than he had been before.

The meadow was utterly lovely. So were the two dozen or so sheep happily grazing grass, gently lipping off berries from bushes, and sunning themselves passively under the blue sky.

“Oh,” said Thor, following Loki's gaze.

Loki's eyes swept from one side of the meadow to the other, narrowing his eyes at one particular fluffy white sheep. He stared deeply at it for a moment, casting fear into its animal heart, before relaxing his shoulders and turning to Thor with a smile.

“There you go, Thor. Plenty to choose from.”

Thor frowned mightily at the multitude of sheep. “How is it that there should be so many? They must be the offspring of domestic sheep run loose and wild in the forest. Which do you suppose is the Lady Asmotha's?”

“Oh, no, Thor,” Loki said softly, finding his way to a fallen log and sitting down. “I've done my work, and now it's up to you to find the lady's beloved pet. I have no stake in the matter.”

Thor gave him a disgruntled look before going around to each sheep, grabbing it rudely by the head, and staring into its black beady eyes. Every so often, he would give a sheep a shake and ask lordly, “Are you Blossom? No? Is that a shake for yes or no?”

Finally, Thor gave up and flopped onto the log beside him. “Don't be cruel, Brother. Isn't there some spell that you can cast to figure out which is Blossom?”

“Possibly,” Loki said, idly examining one of the fallen leaves that had landed in his lap from the maple tree towering above.

Thor waited a moment. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Loki,” Thor said with exaggerated courtesy and patience. “Could you find it in yourself to be kind and help me find the Lady Asmotha's blasted pet sheep afore she complains to her father that we in Asgard are as inhospitable and ill-mannered as frost giants?”

“Of course, Thor, since you asked nicely,” Loki purred, and with a quick flick of his fingers, he sent the maple leaf sailing around the meadow once, twice, three times before it landed gently on the crown of the sheep contently galloping near the biggest huckleberry bush.

The sheep carefully restrained in Thor's big arms, they swiftly started their return journey. Loki found himself unexpectedly intrigued by the unknown herbs that he was finding, and he had finished clipping off a sample from a red spiked specimen when Thor broke the silence in which they'd been walking.

“Do you favor her, Brother?”

“What?” Loki asked absently as he straightened up, plant sample carefully wrapped in a protective handkerchief gifted by their mother.

“Are you sweet on the Lady Asmotha? If so, then I would gladly yield to you,” Thor repeated, looking unusually serious.

“Where in Yggdrasil did you get that idea?”

Thor shrugged, frown lines creasing his forehead and strangely deducting, not adding, years to his age. “I thought you seemed to be in a sour mood earlier, and I thought perhaps I had misstepped.”

“I do not have any warm feelings towards the Lady Asmotha, Thor,” Loki said firmly. “In fact, I rather dislike her for her tendency to change moods as easily as the winds do blow during the fall. And I say again: when upset, she shrieks like a banshee.”

Thor laughed uproariously. “You have a cruel tongue, Loki! Granted, I have to agree with the sentiment. Well, no matter, we'll return the sheep, and then we can seek more pleasant company elsewhere.”

Loki gave a full, satisfied smile as he imagined the look on the Lady Asmotha's face when she realizes that Thor finds his brother's company more interesting. Loki hated being overlooked, even by pretentious brats with no brains to speak of, and he always took his revenge as he liked.

 

Thor led the crowd of mixed warriors in a loud roar of approval as one sinewy warrior lifted and then threw a nearby behemoth of a rock at his opponent, Loki, who leaped back with some alarm.

“Go on, Loki,” Thor shouted, gesturing encouragingly and grinning toothily. “Use your spear! Force him against the rocks!”

Loki shook his head; he needed to clear his mind and think. Bloody Thor. Loki wished his idiotic brother would hold his tongue. Eyes on his opponent, Loki jumped neatly over a fallen tree truck as the warrior circled his position.

“Give my brother courage, men!” Thor barked. Loki thought sourly that the rush of adrenaline merely from witnessing the fight was clearly a boon to Thor, who sounded a little wistful about not being in the fight and earning the audience's adulation.

“Loki Odinson! Loki Odinson!” Thor incited the other Asgardians into a nearly deafening chant to rouse the spirit in his brother. The Reidgotaland warriors took up their own booming chant, complete with drums, in amiably competitive spirit to support their own champion.

Loki's opponent, Frithjof, raised and dropped his arms energetically, basking in his people's adulation, as he made his way closer and closer to where Loki stood, mouth a thin unhappy line. Thor watched his brother alertly, clearly happy to see that Loki would stand his ground for once like a proper warrior.

Once Frithjof got within three meters, Loki yanked his spear from out of his cloak and promptly flew at his opponent, the curved metal spear end glinting sharper than a Jötunn's icy claws. Taking Frithjof by surprise, Loki scored a vicious gash across the warrior's left bicep and met his armored ribs with several forceful blows from a spinning kick.

Loki gave a grim but satisfied smile—an expression that soon faltered as Frithjof overcame the pain and snarled angrily, snapping out a hand quicker than a snake and snatching Loki by the ankle and throwing him to the floor. Beached like a fish out of water, Loki gasped for breath as he sought to recover from the sudden decompression of his lungs. The crowd of warriors, both Asgardian and Reidgota, fell silent as they waited to identify the victor of the bout.

Frithjof caught up his battle axe and swung it ferociously with increasing speed as he advanced on Loki, who scuttled back until he reached the shade of their trees. Frithjof bellowed like Hymir's most prized ox, as he rushed to pin Loki to the tree and claim victory for the match. Loki caught the lowest hanging branch and twisted up and around to land feet-first on top of the tree. Thor squinted in the bright noon-day; he looked disappointed: Loki's jump was rather too high to be natural.

Frithjof looked rather disconcerted for a long moment before he narrowed his eyes and kicked casually at the trunk of the tree, smoothly breaking it in half, and Loki ended up being tossed to the floor, where he rolled to the left to avoid Frithjof's attempt to behead him. Loki's roll led him to the spot where he had left his spear, and he grabbed it up, as he continued rolling past each of Frithjof's consecutive tries for an injury sufficient to end the fight. When Frithjof tried once more and abruptly lodged his battle axe into unnaturally hard ground, Loki loomed over him and pressed the sharper side of the spear against his throat.

“Yield,” Loki commanded, and Frithjof, who cast a quick eye at their audience, let out a derisive snort before nodding his head ever so slightly in hostile agreement. Loki sighed almost inaudibly in relief that it was over before he pulled back his spear and started walking towards the arena. The lack of applause was sign enough, but still he looked towards Thor, and when his brother avoided his eyes, Loki knew that he had still failed to win acknowledgement as a proper warrior.

Ignoring the lingering glances from the dissipating audience, Loki, armor and all (he wouldn't drown, unlike others he could mention), jumped into the white-tiled scrying pool that received the most heat from exposure to the sun. He hardly expected Thor to speak to him for the next month, so when the familiar booming steps made their way down the stone steps and stopped a few feet from the pool edge to block his sun, Loki shot up in confusion, thinking briefly, idiotically, that Asgard must be under attack.

“You promised, Loki,” Thor snapped, and he might have sounded as petulant as his years, but at times his resemblance to Odin came out, and now was one of them.

Looking at Thor's disapproving, scolding face was discomforting enough as it was, Loki thought to himself, as he debated the merits of continuing his swim and darting through the water to the other side of the pool, where an underwater cave, complete with air pocket, would let him escape Thor's tiresome lectures.

“Did I?” Loki countered. “Perhaps I'm mistaken, Thor, but you promised me that it was a practice fight, not a cursed fight to the death.”

Thor shook his head exasperatedly. “Have a little trust. I told Frithjof that you wouldn't be using your magic, so he should restrain himself in turn to be fair, and he agreed to do so.”

Loki laughed chillingly. “I suppose Frithjof wouldn't really have beheaded me then or cut off a limb, if I had been too slow?”

“He probably would have bloodied you a little,” Thor conceded, “But it wouldn't be a worthy fight, mock or no, if he didn't truly show you a challenge. Wouldn't you have been humiliated if he had treated you like a newly weaned pup?”

“I am a magic user, Thor,” Loki said slowly since his brother often seemed to have difficulty grasping the enormity of that concept. “I live and breathe magic. If I were facing a traditional warrior thrown into an arena in which only magic was allowed, I wouldn't be ridiculous enough to assume that he shouldn't or wouldn't use abilities so integral to him.”

Thor sat down roughly on the pool edge, legs splashing into the pool as a vivid illustration of his current frustration. “That may be so, Loki, but you could have won without your magic. You had Frithjof on the retreat a time or two.”

“It's a marvel that you can speak such blatant untruths,” Loki said acidly. “I knew my chances well, and I had no desire to rely on Frithjof's mercy.”

“You'll never earn the men's respect if you don't limit your reliance on magic,” Thor said bluntly. “I ask you, Loki, do you see Father always going to his magicians or using his particular magics as the ruler of Asgard?”

“I don't need their respect,” Loki lied. He raised a hand out of the water and made the nearby lotus flowers open and close their petals rapidly in a way as to make insolent faces at Thor.

Thor let out a skeptical hmph. “If you didn't, you wouldn't have agreed to forfeit the use of your spells and potions for this match. If you want to be known as a great warrior—”

“I don't want to be laid out in the history books as a 'great warrior,'” Loki interrupted, and this time he was telling the truth. “I've told you again and again that such titles don't matter to me. I would much rather be known for my strength in Seiðr than for something for which I have neither inclination nor talent.”

Hoping that Thor would leave it at that, Loki rose out of the heated waters, which were more stifling than comforting now, and with a mere tap of his left hand, he was wearing a loose dry tunic summoned from his room. He sniffed to himself, yet more benefits in being a sorcerer. Heading for his rooms, Loki didn't bother looking behind him to see whether Thor would follow him to continue the argument, but he grudgingly left the door open for the stubborn lug.

“I didn't know you still had this,” Thor said suddenly. “It was such a long time ago; I thought for sure that the parchment would have broken into fragments.” He was standing by one of Loki's bookshelves, one that contained mostly books from their childhood, including one that looked hand-bound, with an age-yellowed cover of a dark-haired little magician boy waving his unnaturally glittery wand, colored a bit too deeply by blotchily applied gold paint.

Blocky letters spelled out the grand title, Koli: Greatest Magishen in All of Asgard And Surronding Lands.

Loki stayed silent for a few minutes as he chose his words carefully. “Doesn't every little brother want reassurance that he may be worthy of regard in his own way? Even if no one else may see it?”

“Oh, Loki,” Thor sighed heavily, a huge huff of breath that lifted the crinkled pages he was holding, and his stern expression softened. “All right, all right. I will say no more of it.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Loki said quietly. Then he smirked, “Besides, in future, if anyone asks, I'll just tell them it was all your idea, all your encouragement that—” Rolling his eyes, Thor threw a pillow at him.

Loki caught it easily and tossed it to the far side of his room. “Boar,” he said contemptuously, with more hints of a smile than a sneer around his lips.

“Cow,” Thor retorted with a broad grin before grabbing another pillow and trying to smother Loki with it.

 

Thor tightened his grip on his wine cup, and Loki reached over to offer him a tempting plate of honey sweetmeats, leaning close enough to hiss, “Thor, keep your temper.” He sighed to himself, rueing his earlier acquiescence to sit next to Thor. What had he been thinking?

“Those elves should seek better hospitality in the flames of the fireplace,” Thor growled back, as he stared hostilely back towards a particular dark-haired elf who had said something subtly insulting about Asgard's halls. Thor may not have Loki's perceptiveness, but he was no fool. What a pity, Loki thought, that Thor's intelligence had to make a showing now.

“The alliance will be beneficial,” Loki countered despite the tightening of his own lips. He looked over at the elf and considered using one of his spells to cast muteness or perhaps stomach upset. His hand was ready and waiting when he caught the eye of his magics teacher, and the old woman stared at him warningly, in an eerie mirror of the manner with which he had regarded Thor's rash attitude.

Loki looked hastily away, and his whispered discussion with Thor would have continued, but the head of the elven delegation, King Shildur, stood up and offered a toast in celebration of the treaty. The tall silver-haired elf, despite being on the slender and fine-boned side, seemed to remind Thor a little of Odin, and he grudgingly sat straight in his chair to listen. The dark-haired elf on the other side, whose name Loki decidedly did not remember, did not seem to have any compunctions about continuing to make faces and mouth derogatory comments about the food, the wine, the present company, and Odin himself.

The last finally angered Thor beyond all control, and he slammed his wine cup down, spilling more than half the contents over the breadbasket and Loki's robes. Wincing at the sudden coldness, Loki was too busy sopping up the mess and magicking his robes dry to pay attention to Thor's tantrum. Then the hall fell eerily silent, and Loki looked up to find everyone looking at him. Blanching, he turned to Thor and demanded an explanation with an arch of his eyebrow.

“You agree, don't you, Loki?” Thor appealed, and Loki would have said “no” automatically if Thor had used one of his commanding tones, but his brother looked stricken and vulnerable, so Loki turned into an idiot. “Yes, of course.” He couldn't let Thor, as bothersome as he could be, lose face in front of all their people.

Thor beamed blindingly at him before turning an arrogant sneer on the dark-haired elf. “Let's hear it then. Your puzzle.”

Puzzle? Loki's heart sank as he glared daggers at his brother's unsuspecting head. Thor better not be expecting some quick miracle; Loki wouldn't demur that his mind worked more strategically and flexibly than Thor's did, but even he couldn't know what a blasted elf considered clever logic.

Odin and Shildur continued to look on in silence, apparently content with curiously watching their offspring squabble over petty matters. Frigga, however, wearing peach silk robes softly alit from the multitude of candles, rose elegantly from her husband's side, and gently interceded, “My lords, a puzzle is all well and good, but a mother must ask fairness for her children. I propose a certain allotment of time.”

Shildur nodded grandly and raised his cup to her in a brief but respectful toast. “Her majesty is quite right. We must treat it as a proper contest.” He wagged his finger scoldingly at his son, who scowled deeply at the interference. “Elonril, you will give Prince Loki the same puzzle that your tutor gave you two seasons ago. As I recall, he also gave you five minutes to solve it, and you failed. You shall act as your tutor did, and regardless of whether Prince Loki fails or succeeds, you must be satisfied that he is at least not your inferior.”

“Hear, hear!” came the riotous cheer that greeted Shildur's wise words.

Elonril looked coolly at Loki, blatantly ignoring Thor's presence, and spoke clearly and evenly, and the audience fell silent. “Three princes of olden day rode thirty days and nights to seek counsel from the mountain hermit, for all three princes feared what their futures would bring. Before allowing them to speak, the hermit served them cups of tea, and they drank the offering in silence. Within half an hour's time, the first prince had left the table, the second prince had spilled his cup, and the third prince had leveled his sword at the hermit's throat. What say you to these strange events?”

Elonril sat back down in his seat, clearly pleased with the wrinkles that creased Loki's forehead upon hearing the vague story. As he tried to parse the story and identify the important details, two palace guards ceremoniously arrived with a metal plate held before them, upon which rested a 2.5 inch candle that came lit and was already starting to melt.

Loki cursed softly to himself before taking care of priorities. He turned to Thor and ordered, “Keep your mouth shut, and don't talk to me. And don't let anyone else bother me. I need to think.”

Without waiting for a response, Loki closed his eyes and braced his head on one hand while he began to spin out every strand of thought, but as he finished each idea to its conclusion, he could see a flaw in the logic or the likelihood. He needed to refresh his thoughts and ponder the riddle as though he were an elf. First, he needed to decide what type of answer was required; with such vague riddles, an answer that fit all criteria could be judged correct even though it was not the intended answer.

“What say I to these strange events?” Loki muttered desperately to himself. His shoulders tensed in feverish warmth, but he didn't dare look towards the candle and find himself utterly paralyzed.

“The candle has still two inches left, Brother,” Thor quietly rumbled beside him, and despite his earlier warning, Loki didn't tell him to shut his mouth.

Epiphany started to brighten the corners of his mind. What was the lesson to be learned? The princes must have received some advice from the hermit though the hermit, sly as he must be, may not have given it to them directly. The first prince left the table so early that it would have been considered an insult, so why did he do it? It must have been some kind of emergency. It couldn't be a military one; otherwise, the other princes would have left too. Perhaps it was personal then? But how to include the other two princes? Frankly, they all seemed rather shabby examples of princehood, spilling tea so carelessly and threatening the host of the table. Why? And tea? That was rather unusual; Loki was nearly certain that even hermits would be culturally sensitive enough to provide wine to guests.

“The candle is nearly melted, Loki,” Thor informed him cheerfully, clearly not worried that he may have overestimated his brother's abilities.

Loki let out a shuddering breath as he opened his eyes again, and the view before him swam, as his eyes readjusted to the glaring candle lights. He threw back his wine cup, drank up the dregs, and demanded a refill, to the nearby servant's astonishment.

“I have it,” Loki rasped as soon as he had swallowed another mouthful from his refilled cup. He stared triumphantly at Elonril as he spoke crisply and confidently, nervous hands laced together beneath the table: “The first prince would likely die an early death; he drank the tea without hesitation and suffered from the mild poison the hermit had included. The third prince was familiar with the taste of poison and was wily enough to bear a weapon down on his poisoner, though he may in future swallow enough of a stronger poison to die shortly afterwards. The second prince was the craftiest by far and would have the brightest future, for he was the one too wary to accept drink from even a venerable hermit.” When Loki finished his explanation, he waited tensely for King Shildur's response, and Thor pounded happily on his shoulders even before the elven king absorbed his words and raised a wine cup in acceptance of his eloquent answer.

Asgard's golden halls thundered and roared as hundreds of Odin's guests all followed King Shildur's lead and celebrated Loki's success with praise and toasts. His mother and father beamed in pride at him before they were once again enveloped in diplomatic talks with the elven royalty, and Loki basked in the warmth of having shown his worth to his father, but the glow of achievement began to fade, and he grew tired from his earlier efforts.

Loki sank back into his seat and closed his eyes again, this time for a rest, before opening his eyes to the smell of spiced pears. At Thor's direction, a servant set down a newly baked pear tart with a scoop of pomegranate ice on the side, and Loki felt considerably moved by his brother's rare thoughtfulness. He was about to tell Thor so, but the crown prince had already turned away to greet one of his newly arrived friends, and was preoccupied with an affectionate headlock.

Loki's lips thinned as Thor obliviously roared with laughter next to him, and he stabbed his fork into the pear tart, splattering the burning juices everywhere.

 

“You've been acting very strangely lately, Loki,” Thor noted. His brow furrowed with concern as he walked to the small parlor outside the dining hall.

Loki stayed in the shadows of his space, and he didn't turn around. “How do you mean, Thor?”

Thor shrugged his shoulders, and his cape wavered magnificently behind him in perfect punctuation of his statements. “I hardly see you anymore. We have no more lessons together, and I visit the dining hall more often with my friends than with you.”

Loki curled his lip at his own reflection in the frosted glass windows. “You see me now. What do you want, Thor?”

“I want to talk, just the two of us.” Thor shifted awkwardly before settling onto the last stone step of the winding staircase that led to Loki's hiding place. “I thought, perhaps, that Father's decision...I will be crowned tomorrow, and I don't want there to be hurt feelings.”

“Is that a command, my liege?” Loki asked softly, the thinnest layer of venom coating his tone.

“What?” Thor looked startled, eyes genuinely wide. “No, Loki, I'm not going to start throwing orders around like a power-mad beast. Fine,” Thor corrected himself, “sometimes I might be a bit bossy, like you say, but you know that I always welcome your counsel. Father too says that sometimes you are wiser than I despite the difference in our years.”

Loki was unmoved. “You will have many counselors. All who serve Father will now serve you. You don't need me.”

“But they're Father's counselors. They don't know me, Loki. You do.” Thor jabbed a finger at him, and Loki thought coldly, furiously, of slicing it off. The sudden bloody turn of his thoughts horrified him, and he nearly missed the next words that Thor spoke passionately. “It's my fault too that I haven't sought you out more often, but I don't want us to continue with this distance between us.”

Loki blew out a slow breath, and he watched as it fogged the glass with mist and obscured Thor's stubborn visage behind him. Suddenly, he felt rather sorry for his foolish brother, standing there with a king's stance but a child's plaintive frown and confused, beseeching eyes. “All things come to an end, Thor. I'm glad that you think so highly of me now, but you won't always.” He tried to lighten the dour mood, and he turned around with a faint smile. “I always thought that I should take time for some exploration, and now could be a good time.”

“You would leave Asgard?” Thor asked, aghast at the idea. “Loki, no, I—Ascending the throne doesn't mean that suddenly Asgard is mine alone. Father's always said that he hoped we could rule together, if not in name, then in deed. I need you, Brother,” Thor insisted.

He jumped to his feet, and Loki watched him stalk restlessly around the small room. “Tomorrow is all that I have dreamed of for so many years, but I do worry about being worthy of what Father's giving me. It will be up to me to protect Asgard's boundaries from attack. Like from those Frost Giants,” Thor said darkly, eyes hazy with memory as he recalled Odin's long absences from home as he drove their enemies back. “Father says that the treaty will hold, but I have my doubts. Those creatures are wily and treacherous, and Asgard will never be completely safe unless they are gone.”

Abruptly, Thor recalled his original purpose for seeking out Loki, and he cast a sheepish glance at his brother, but Loki merely looked thoughtful. “Well,” Loki said, oddly peaceably. “You will take care of all that when you are king, Thor.”

Thor grinned at his brother's apparent rise in spirits. “We'll do it together! Won't we, Brother?”

“Oh, I'm sure we shall,” Loki replied a bit absently, artful mind already far away and thinking and planning and hoping.

 

Unfortunately, we all know what happens next.

 

End Note: I would welcome feedback on characterization.


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